


Descent Into Madness

by IronShiba (wegglebots)



Category: Hololive, HololiveEN, Virtual Streamer Animated Characters
Genre: AU, Angst, Domestic, F/F, Fluff, Iname, Time Travel, playing it by ear this time lol
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-25
Updated: 2021-02-08
Packaged: 2021-03-18 06:13:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 11,799
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28987626
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wegglebots/pseuds/IronShiba
Summary: Amelia Watson and Ina’nis Ninomae meet for the first time, then the second time, and then at some point meet for the first time again.Lost in the seas of time, the two are trapped in a game of seeing who falls first.
Relationships: Ninomae Ina'nis/Watson Amelia (hololive)
Comments: 25
Kudos: 184





	1. First Meeting

The sun is high in the sky when Watson finds herself at the port of a peculiar village. Wood creaks under her feet, seagulls cry overhead, waves crash against stone and wood. Amelia Watson takes a deep breath. It smells of the sweet ocean air.

Some distance away, villagers shield their eyes from the harsh glare of the sun as they stare at the detective that had randomly zapped into existence. They seem unassuming, like regular, normal villagers that reside in a regular, normal fishing village. The detective knows that this isn’t the case. Cultists, each and every one.

This isn’t Amelia Watson’s first rodeo. She knows what she’s here for and sees no point in dallying about. She grins widely, holds her arms out wide.

She shouts, as loudly as she can, “ _Alright, take me to your leader!_ ”

And it takes a few seconds for the cultists to recognize the situation. They look to each other, confused, as Amelia Watson laughs to herself, her arms still wide open.

They decide to oblige and simply escort the detective along.

Amelia Watson is guided through stone streets, past wood and stone houses, past gardens. She’s led up a long, winding path, through shrine gates and up cobblestone steps. The trip is silent save for the low murmuring of the villagers speaking among themselves, the rustling of trees, the chirping of birds. They climb steps, no one talking directly to the time traveler. Watson’s legs begin to ache as they continue to ascend. Her lungs burn. Her heart rate picks up uncomfortably. She wonders how accustomed the villagers are to making this particular journey, as none of her escorts seem to be even remotely winded.

When they finally crest, Amelia takes a moment to just breathe. She heaves. Wipes the beads of sweat forming on her forehead with the back of her hand. The villagers just silently observe her. The detective notes that she’s probably going to lose miserably in a foot race with them. The cultists watch on, waiting patiently for Watson to catch her breath.

Before the detective is an impressively large gate, double wooden doors swung open. Beyond that is a wide, open courtyard,  stone statues flanking a mossy stone path leading up to the shrine proper. There are clusters of bamboo, meticulously maintained zen gardens, a pond. The shine itself is large, of East Asian design, Watson notes. She takes a few steps down the path. Looks closely at the stone statues. Odd, eldritch entities, wrapped in slithering tentacles. 

“Eldritch shit is so scary,” she says. No one responds. She shrugs and continues down the path, towards _her_. 

She stands before the building. A pair of cultists hold our their arms, signaling “stop.” Amelia Watson stands still. Another pair of cultists take the few steps up, bow deeply, and knock ever so slightly on the wooden sliding doors.

There’s a pause. The low, murmuring of voices. Watson takes the moment to straighten out her cap, her jacket. She does want to make a good first impression, after all.

The two cultists look back at the group. They nod, almost in unison. All the villagers surrounding the detective bow deeply. The two near the door get in position, ready to open the sliding doors. Watson finds it unsettling how coordinated they all are.

The doors are opened.

There, the girl, the priestess herself. Knots form in Amelia Watson’s stomach. Her throat feels dry. Her heart rate shoots back up again. 

The girl sits on a cushion in a kneeling position, still and silent, her hands folded on her lap. Her expression is blank as she stares at the intruder presented to her. The priestess’s garb is intricate, robes of dark purples with highlights of gold. The girl’s ears are pointed. This has always confused the detective slightly, as atop her head are two appendages (or perhaps flaps?) protruding from a full head of incredibly long, flowing dark purple hair. Watson finds herself wondering how tiring it must be to comb all that hair.

The priestess says nothing. The villagers say nothing. The shrine is incredibly quiet and Watson could swear she could hear the thundering of her heart in her chest. This is awkward, immensely awkward.

This is why “dealing with cults” is in her list of “top three most annoying things to deal with,” just below “shitty internet” and just above “dealing with hungry sharks.”

Amelia Watson clears her throat. With one hand she takes off her cap and bows, exaggerated and theatrical, her other hand over her chest. She looks up and grins at the priestess.

“Nice to meet you, Miss Ina’nis Ninomae,” she says.

It’s almost, _almost_ imperceptible, but the girl’s eyes widen. “Who are you?” she asks, her voice low, barely above a whisper. 

“None other than the number one detective herself, Amelia Watson, at your service!”

“Do I… Do I know you?”

“Yes and no.”

The priestess looks confused.

Watson chuckles. “It’ll make sense,  _eventually._ ”

_______

Amelia Ninomae wakes up to the smell of coffee.

Sunlight filters in through open curtains. The soft bed sheets are warm and comfortable. Past the open doorway of the bedroom, past down the hallway, the sound of cooking food echoes throughout. Her side of the bed is a mess of crumpled linen. Her wife’s side is neat, fixed, pillows perfectly fluffed and covers perfectly folded.

Amelia gets up, stretches, and yawns loudly. She scratches her back lazily.

A voice, from the kitchen, soft but audible. “Bed sheets,” says Ina, a stern but sweet reminder.

Ame sleepily and hastily fixes her side of the bed. It’s not the best, by any means, but any casual observer would probably find the contrast in the two sides quite endearing.

She pads down the hallway, just in time to find a plate of steaming eggs and bacon, along with a cup of coffee just the way she likes it. Ame hums contentedly as Ina unties her apron, sits across her wife at the breakfast table.

“Weird dream again?” asks Ina, as she sips at her own coffee.

“How could you tell?” asks Ame in return. She spears a piece of bacon and bites into it.

“You look a particular way when you have your weird dreams,” says Ina. She giggles. “You look a little lost, to be honest.”

Amelia hums, chewing on her bacon.

“Where did your dreams take you this time, Miss Time Traveling Detective?”

“Hmm,” goes Ame, “technically our first meeting.”

Ina smiles, “So good to have you back here, Miss Watson.”

Ame laughs. “Been a while since you last called me that, Miss Ninomae.”

Ame takes a moment to ground herself. To take in her surroundings. Their scratched up dining table, on which Ame tinkers with her watch much to Ina’s dismay. Their small but neat kitchen. Their comfy sofa and living room. The breakfast between them. Their timeline. Their home.

Ina smiles brightly at Ame. “Welcome home, Mrs. Ninomae.”


	2. Humanity

Ninomae Ina’nis dreams a strange dream.

She dreams she is at the bottom of the ocean, sitting upon a marble throne, tendrils of seaweed growing up and around it. Before her, her domain. She gazes upon a tiny stone city of her own creation. Each home, fixture, villager, carefully and beautifully carved. A still, silent city to rule over.

Beyond that, a hundred thousand eyes are all gazing upon her.

The eyes are of varying shapes and sizes, the irises an innumerable number of colors. They watch on, unperturbed, but not as if menacing or anything like that. They gaze softly. Lovingly, even. In the cold depths of the ocean, Ninomae Ina’nis somehow feels warmth from the hundred thousand or so eyes silently watching her. She tries to ask the countless eyes who they are and why they’re watching her, but her voice catches in her throat, and nothing but bubbles of air emerge from her lips. The eyes watch. Some blink. Some do not.

She sits upon her throne, ornate and beautiful, and the ocean depths echo with a loneliness she does not understand. She looks up, to the surface, to the barest sunlight she can see breaking through the water’s currents. She is too far deep down. There is no sun in her domain.

A voice forms in the back of her mind, without source and without sound.

_So begins your descent into madness_

And Ninomae Ina’nis wakes up.

_______

[The Lost Village by the Sea, Year Unknown]

The self-proclaimed detective that randomly showed up at the village is weird, or so Ninomae Ina’nis thinks. She had shown up, flamboyantly introduced herself… and then asked if she could stay and investigate the village for no real reason aside from “Gathering intel.”

Of course Ina’nis had prodded, asked her “But why?”s as politely as one could, but the detective proved to be quite good at dodging questions. And so they find themselves in the situation they currently are in – the detective stays as a guest in the village and she spends her days milling about, asking people this and that, mostly mundane things about their daily lives.

Their first introduction had been immensely awkward, but Ina’nis hopes that she had reacted calmly enough not to betray those feelings. The villagers were watching, after all, and it would do no good for her to panic in the face of a foreign situation. As village priestess, she has taken it upon herself to defend her little home from any and all threats that may wash upon their shores. Odd detectives included.

Ina’nis tends to the garden outside the shrine, to the Takodachis floating around with relaxed little smiles on their faces as they bob along without a care in the world. The garden is beautifully maintained, carefully arranged stones, thriving plants, pools of ponds with small man-made channels connecting them. The creatures populating the area are drawn to her, and she, in turn, feels obligated to show them affection. The change of her body’s form, the appearance of these strange creatures, the village itself, all facets of power that the Ancient Ones had bestowed upon her that she herself understands little about.

As far as she is concerned, this is her place in life. And to tend to this garden, and these people, and these oceans, is her domain.

“Miss Ninomae,” says the blonde detective beside her, “tell me about those weird floaty purple squishy things.”

Ina’nis is startled but she tries her hardest to be still. To be calm. She takes a deep breath. Rises to her feet. “I call them Takodachi.”

“The Ancient Ones call them that?”

“Oh no,” goes Ina’nis, looking away. “I uh, made it up. Because… they look like _tako_ , you know, octopus.”

There’s a small smile on Amelia Watson’s lips, which she tries to hide with the back of her hand. “Ah. That’s uh, pretty cute Miss Ninomae.”

Ina’nis feels embarrassed. Immensely embarrassed. Part of her wants to run into the ocean and never return. Instead she decides to deflect. “How goes the investigation, Miss Watson?”

Miss Watson grins. “You can call me Amelia.”

Ina’nis can’t help but smile. “You can call me Ina then.”

“Well Ina,” goes Amelia, “the investigation is going quite well. Everyone is cooperative. At your request, I’m assuming.” She grins, but the joy in her smile doesn’t reach her eyes. Ina can’t help but wonder why.

“Why do you seem so sad, detective?” asks Ina before she can stop herself.

The expression on Amelia Watson’s face shifts. She smiles, sadly this time.

“Can I tell you a little secret?”

“Sure.”

“I’m actually a _time-traveling_ detective.”

Ina frowns. “Do you perhaps take me for a fool, Miss Watson?” she asks, coolly.

“No, no, I’m serious,” the detective asserts. She brandishes a golden watch. It ticks at odd intervals, the dial itself moving at unnatural speeds. The priestess’s instincts tell her that the object hums with an untold, unusual power.

“Oh,” goes Ina, “I guess you’re telling the truth.”

“Yeah,” goes Amelia, “and I guess talking to you like this and having you be all formal with me is… jarring.”

Ninomae Ina’nis mulls this over. There are several implications at play in what the detective had just told her. First, that they are at the very least still acquaintances in the future. Second, that the Ina of the future must have told the detective about the village and its whereabouts. And last but most importantly, third, something in the future will cause the detective to travel back in time to investigate the root cause.

Ina looks at Amelia, serious and stern. “Do I lose control of my powers in the future, Amelia Watson?”

The detective makes an odd expression. Pained. Sorrowful. Lost. A small part of Ina wants to try to soothe away these feelings.

“You know,” begins Amelia, but her voice falters. She clears her throat. Turns away to look at the bright blue sky above them. “You always joke about being dumb but you’re a lot sharper than you give yourself credit for.”

“That’s not really tr– ”

“I’m being honest,” Amelia interrupts, still looking up. “I’ve been trying to prevent certain future events from taking place. I just can’t figure out _how_.”

Ina hums. “Maybe it’s a lost cause,” she says. She, too, looks up at the bright blue sky. She imagines sunlight piercing through her and somehow purifying her, but of course such things are only workings of her imagination. She continues to speak. “After reading the book of the Ancient Ones, I seem to have lost my human form. Perhaps my humanity as well.” She laughs, low and without mirth.

Watson frowns. Ina is about three seconds away from apologizing for ruining the mood when the detective reaches out and grabs one of the Takodachi in her hands. It smiles lazily at her. Watson grins back at it, devilishly.

And the detective squeezes as hard as she can.

The Takodachi makes a strained, pained sound. The detective starts to play with it like one does with a stress ball. It whines as the detective proceeds to pinch and pull at it, trying to stretch and then squeeze it as if it were a ball of slime.

Ina panics.

“M-miss Watson!” she says, startled. “P-please be gentle with them!”

Watson chuckles, letting go of the odd creature. It weakly floats towards Ina, who catches it softly with both hands.

“Oh no, oh no,” goes Ina, “are you okay? Are you hurt?”

The Takodachi in Ina’s hands makes an odd, gurgling sound. It twitches and for a moment it seems like it might die a sad, Takodachi death, but it sputters and then stops twitching. The pained expression on its face eventually fades, and its familiar, lazy smile returns. Ina sighs in relief. She snaps to look at the detective, to ask for an explanation, and maybe even scold her.

She sees Watson smiling kindly at her. An expression that Ina’nis does not quite understand, not yet. Ina finds her reprimand stuck at the back of her throat.

The detective speaks, the joy in her smile still not quite reaching her eyes. “You know Miss Ninomae, you’re more human than a lot of humans are.”

“But I – ” goes Ina, confused.

“Without a doubt, you are one of the kindest humans I know.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is gonna take a bit more time to unfold ehe. Hopefully it pays off! Next chapters are making me feel all excited so I'm hoping it ends up at least fairly decent LMAO
> 
> (((thank you as always for the kudos and comments, I really gotta get to answering them soon oh boi)))
> 
> I'm @IronShiba on the bird app!


	3. The detective and the priestess

Amelia Watson dreams a strange dream.

She dreams of a broken city, herself standing amid the ruins of a world long gone. She wanders alone among the rubble of buildings, among creeping vines growing up and around broken concrete. She wanders through empty streets and among the rusted shells of cars. She, lonely, and without any direction.

Water pools at her feet. Water, from the ocean, maybe. Water coming from far beyond and seeping into the cracks of buildings and into the remains of a thriving civilization. She looks down, at her reflection in the water.

She sees a version of herself she cannot recognize. The face of madness, feral and untamed. She gets on her knees to inspect her reflection better. Her eyes tainted with drops of what looks like dark purple ink, slowly swirling and clouding the blue of her irises until they slowly grow more and more purple in color.

A ripple in the water.

Now she’s looking at a reflection of Ninomae Ina’nis, looking upon her coldly, the priestess’ dark purple eyes glowing ominously.

Tentacles rise from the water and pull her past the surface.

Amelia Watson does not struggle as the appendages drag her deeper and deeper into the water, deeper and deeper into the darkness.

In the freezing depths of the of the ocean, there is nothing. An echoing silence reverberating through her very core. She looks up at the water’s surface, watches the receding of the light until there is nothing left.

A voice – without sound and without source, forms at the back of her mind.

_You seek me_

_Why?_

And Amelia Watson does not answer.

_Tell me detective_

_What is the nature of your madness?_

And Amelia Watson wakes up.

_______

[The Modern World, Present Time]

Before anything else, Amelia Watson is a detective.

Her actions are fueled by evidence. By carefully formed judgments that are backed up by careful deduction. By analysis and science and hard, impossible-to-refute proof.

At least that’s what she thinks.

In reality, she’s more a creature of impulse than she is a creature of quiet, steady thought. She jumps before she thinks, and if she jumps wrong, she simply clicks at her pocket watch so she can opt to jump in a different direction instead. Hers is a science made of chaos – built on trial and error and the wild hope that things will somehow check out in the end.

She first notices the lingering way that Ina would look at her. Sometimes kind. Sometimes sad. Sometimes laced with something… something that Amelia isn’t sure of. “Maybe she has a crush on me,” is a thought, but that’s an unbearably arrogant conclusion to immediately draw, right? I mean, yeah, Amelia Watson is at least _a little_ attractive, if she does say so herself, but what is she going to do, openly accuse her dear friend “Hey Ina are you fucking horny for me or what, I can’t tell what you’re thinking?” Of course not. Even Amelia has her limits with blurting out the first thing that comes to mind.

She next notices the way Ina grows more guarded around her. The priestess becomes more selective with her words, more careful about her non-verbal cues. There are excuses to avoid hanging out, reasons to avoid long conversations. And Amelia wants to ask, as a friend would, if maybe she’d done anything to offend Ina, or if she’d said something so stupid that she needs to apologize for it. She wouldn’t put it past herself to do something dumb like that. But words and thoughts and actions freeze at the back of Amelia’s throat, and she lets these things happen.

Finally, it’s the dreams that slowly increase in frequency. Odd dreams. Sometimes nightmares, sometimes pleasant ones. At times, they’re so realistic that she thinks she’s somehow jumped into the future. Other times, they’re so surreal it begins to tear at her sense of the world.

It’s when she looks at a mirror expecting her reflection and instead and sees a thousand eyes looking back at her, with tentacles spilling past the borders of the glass like inky tendrils that she realizes that something is probably very, horribly wrong.

Odd thoughts begin to assail her. Elements of which she’s certain are her own feelings and convictions, but twisted, contorted, pushed to extremes she cannot control. They emerge without sound, without source. They make it harder and harder to focus.

And so Amelia Watson, time-traveling detective, finds herself at Ninomae Ina’nis’s apartment.

It’s the middle of the night, and the detective is poorly prepared for the next few actions she thinks she’s going to take, but there’s no better time than the here and now to rush in. Ina politely offers Ame some coffee, and they sit across one another at Ina’s small dining table. Ame squints at the light above them, and the moonlight pouring in from a nearby window. She wonders how come the room still feels so dim despite the light sources.

The space is clean, neat, although the priestess had apologized profusely for the mess when she let Ame in. Decorations are sparse, and the room smells of coffee, of the lingering spice of Ina’s favorite brand of instant noodles, of _Ina_.

Knots form in Amelia’s gut. She feels like she’s intruding in a space she shouldn’t be in, somehow. She feels nervous. A hundred times more nervous than she ought to be, really.

Again, a series of thoughts, bubbling up to the surface of her consciousness.

_You want her_

_You want her more than you want to admit_

_You want her hands on your body, her nails digging into your flesh, her breath hot against you, and her lips pressed against yours._

_Tell her you want her. Tell her you need her. You think she looks so beautiful framed by the moonlight. You want to see the light of the moon on the entirety of her naked body._

Amelia Watson loudly clears her throat. Does her best not to blush or panic at the thoughts that had randomly assailed her. She looks away, her cheeks feeling incredibly warm.

“You okay?” asks Ina, politely. “Sorry, the coffee too hot?” The expression in her face is… restrained, somehow. It makes Amelia’s gut sink. She hates this. Hates seeing someone she cares about like this. She wants to fix it. She wants to make it better. She desperately wants Ina to be happy.

Amelia pretends to be clueless, stretches. “You know Ina,” she goes, “I’d heard madness is apparently kind of infectious.”

Ina stiffens. Ame continues to speak.

“I’ve been having weird thoughts pop up at the back of my mind lately. Weird dreams too. You know anything about this?”

The expression on Ina’s face shifts. She smiles, apologetically, sadly. A part of Amelia aches. The thought in the back of her mind comes back with renewed vigor.

_She thinks you’re weak_

_Show her what you’re capable of_

_Make her yours in more ways than one_

_Walk over to her. Let her sink her fangs into your flesh. Let her draw your blood. Let her drink of your life. Show her you can take pain. Show her you welcome it_.

Amelia Watson rubs her temples. Blinks several times. She wonders if this is the type of madness that Ina deals with on the daily. And if so, how on earth she manages to get anything done with these thoughts constantly assailing her.

“Ame?” goes Ina. Amelia refocuses on the present.

“Sorry, can you repeat what you said?” answers Ame.

“I said,” goes Ina, “madness is less of an infectious disease and more of a loss of inhibitions.”

“Ah, that explains a lot of the weird sex thoughts,” says Ame, without thinking.

“What?” says Ina, startled.

“What?” echoes Ame, backpedaling.

They stare at each other for a few beats, both of them blushing immensely.

“A-anyway,” stammers Ame, standing up and looking around the room for something to distract herself. She spots a chessboard, in the corner of the room on a shelf, the pieces set up as if ready for a game at any time. “Um, you uh, wanna play chess?”

She steps closer to the chessboard. “Oh,” goes Ame, “the queen’s missing.”

Ina, still seated in her spot, idly traces a square on the table. She smiles sadly, in a way that Amelia Watson does not understand, not yet.

“Ah, yes,” goes Ina, “my queen’s a little jumpy.”

Amelia Watson faces Ninomae Ina’nis. Moonlight frames the taller woman so beautifully. Her eyes almost seem to glow in the dim light of the apartment. The detective does her best not to think of fangs glinting. Of gloved hands around her neck. Of the sheer thrill of danger.

Of wanting to hold the other woman so close and never let go.

Instead the detective thinks of alternate universes and timelines and jumping through the fabric of space and time to find herself at the shores of a distant, lost village.

“I am going travel to your village,” says Amelia, a finality in her voice that seems to thicken the air.

“I know,” answers Ina, “and we’ll do this again and again until you’re satisfied with the answers you find.” A few beats pass, and Ina asks, “How many times have we had this conversation?”

“This is the first time.”

“Don’t lie to me.”

Amelia grins, an involuntary reaction, almost. “I wouldn’t even try lying to you.”

Ina looks out the window, out towards the moon and the clouds now shrouding its light. “I dream a lot about alternate timelines. Or maybe its the past, or the future, or all those things somehow mixed together. I wonder, sometimes, if that has anything to do with you.”

“I dunno,” goes Ame, shrugging, “I wouldn’t put it past me to have accidentally broken time at some point.”

_You are sick to your core_

_You are sick and the only cure to your insanity is her absolution_

_Get down on your knees and worship her like you know you should_

Watson’s resolve flickers like a candle in the wind. She pulls out her watch, adjusts the dial. Ina watches on, silently.

“Have a safe trip,” says the priestess.

Amelia stops just before pressing down on the button. “I’ll fix this, I promise,” she says.

“I know you will.”

“I’ll come back for you, okay? Wait for me.”

And as Amelia Watson presses down on the trigger, as time and space bends to her will, she catches the last few words Ninomae Ina’nis says.

“ _That’s what I’ve been doing all this time_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Are we getting confused yet? I know right.
> 
> Had to bump up the rating because of uh, reasons. Nothing explicit will come up but I'd rather be on the safe side.


	4. Thunderclap

[The Lost Village by the Sea, Year Unknown]

Thunderclap.

The sound of the time traveler zapping to and fro. Lightning and the thunder that follows. Much like the storms that assail the village every so often. Much like the distant omen of the impending chaos and the relentless torrent of rain. The sudden flash of light. The low rumble that follows. _Thunderclap_. Booming, prominent, echoing throughout. It rattles Ina’s bones.

Ina looks to the glass doors leading out to her room’s balcony, a newly acquired habit.

Beyond the glass, shrouded by gray, rolling clouds, the detective leans casually against the rails. She grins, like she always does, lazy and relaxed. Ina wonders what kind of storm Miss Watson brings with her today.

The priestess opens the glass doors. “Hello again, Miss Watson.”

It’s been months since Ina first met Amelia Watson. Months of awkward “investigation,” the detective popping in and out whenever she pleased, sometimes melancholic, sometimes playful. But always, always the same endearing detective.

And yes, Ina would not deny that truth within her. She did find Amelia Watson to be quite charming, and somewhat handsome, actually. Ina would admit it, to herself, in the quiet solitude of the night when she’d find herself sketching the detective’s likeness, that she did, in fact, have fledgling, growing feelings for the woman. It was hard not to feel that way. Amelia Watson had always been kind to her. Sweet to her. Seemed to see her in a way that no one else ever did. And so Ina, shy but patient Ina, began to want to see sides of the detective that could belong to her and only her.

The detective bows lowly, exaggerated, theatrical. “A good day to you, Miss Ninomae.”

Ina giggles.

“Just to check,” says Watson, thumbing through the pages of a small notebook she’d pulled out of her coat pocket, “this is timeline code _1NA-5M3LLS_ , yeah?”

“No,” quips Ina, “this is actually timeline code _W4TS0N-5UX_.”

Amelia chuckles. “Ah,” she goes, “I’ve been found out.”

“It wasn’t very clever to begin with,” says Ina. “Plus, how am I supposed to verify the timeline code anyway?”

“Could it be?” goes the detective.

“Hm?”

“The novelty of meeting a time-traveling detective has finally worn off?”

“That’s assuming there was any novelty for me to begin with.”

Watson clutches her chest in mock pain. “ _Ack,_ _that hurts Miss Ninomae._ _How could you?_ ”

Ina can’t help but giggle. “Need some water for that burn, Miss Watson?”

Amelia Watson shrugs, grinning nonchalantly. “I’ve been called worse, actually.”

Feelings of general concern wash over Ina but she decides it’s probably for the best not to pry about such matters. There are other questions she wants to ask the time traveler, after all. She gestures to two seats facing each other, a simple wooden chess board placed upon a table between them.

“Fancy a game, detective?” Ina asks.

Amelia Watson takes a seat, and Ninomae Ina’nis sits across her. The detective eyes the board warily. “Hm,” she observes, “a complete set.”

“Well, yes,” goes Ina, “as most chessboards should be, I believe?”

Watson laughs. “Yes, of course. That was a test, and you pass.” She grins brightly at the priestess. Ina feels her cheeks go a little warmer. She gestures to the board. “Your move first, Ina.”

A thought emerges at the back of her mind, like how the Ancient Ones would speak to her. A series of images playing in a loop, an endless video playing in her head. Communication built upon preying upon her own thoughts and emotions. Words without voice or source.

_You sink your fangs into the detective’s neck. Her skin is so soft. Her smell so sweet. Her blood warm, warm, warm_

Ina steadies herself. Blinks away the thoughts but the warmth in her cheeks remain. She plays with a loose strand of hair. “Nice of you to drop by, detective,” she says. She moves a pawn.

The detective moves a piece as well. Watson leans forward, rests her elbows on the table and her chin on her palm. “You look like you have questions for me,” she says.

Ina’s eyes widen. “Oh! You could tell.” Another move.

Amelia chuckles. She looks briefly at the board, makes a move. Ina thinks it’s a bad move, but doesn’t say anything. “Despite everything, I _am_ a detective, you know,” says Amelia, smugly.

The priestess wonders if her line of questioning would be alright. She makes a poor strategic move on purpose. Tries to suppress her joy when the detective proudly captures the piece.

At the back of her mind, again, intrusive thoughts.

_You hold the detective down. She doesn’t resist. You draws your tongue along expanses of the detective’s skin. She gasps, soft moans filling the room. And you want more. Need more._

Ina clears her throat. Idly picks up a chess piece and pretends to study it. She makes a defensive move. The thoughts are nothing new, of course, but they’re beginning to happen more frequently. Ina briefly wonders if she should be more concerned.

“You can ask away,” says Amelia. “It’s fine.” She begins to eye the board more carefully. She makes a bold move. The board is slowly opening up.

Doubts creep up at the back of Ina’s mind but Amelia’s kind smile puts her at ease. What was it about the detective’s presence that just made Ina feel so… unarmed? Ina moves to capture a piece.

“We meet in the future, right?” asks Ina, after a bit of hesitation.

“Yeah. Wanna know about the future?” Amelia presses forward with her pieces. Aggressive. Reckless.

Ina hums. Steels her will. She moves her pieces defensively. Strategic. Careful. She decides to go ahead and ask.

“What am I to you in the future, Miss Watson? A friend? An enemy?”

Amelia Watson regards Ina with a cold, even gaze. She moves a piece, seemingly at random.

“Or perhaps,” says Ina, playfully tapping her chin, “… a lover?”

The detective looks away. Hides her expression behind the brim of her cap. Ina captures a piece. Watson moves another piece at random.

Ina giggles. “I see. Interesting.” She hopes that her expression doesn’t betray the sudden flutter in her stomach. The warmth blooming over her cheeks. The sudden racing of her heart. She looks down at the board. She has Amelia cornered. There, out in the open, her queen, ripe for Ina’s taking.

With her own queen, Ina moves to capture Amelia’s. “Looks like I’ve captured you, _my queen_ ,” she teases.

The detective reaches out. Grabs Ina’s wrist. Stops her before she can take the piece. Ina looks up.

Amelia Watson looks like she’s close to tears.

“Amelia?” goes Ina, “are you okay?” Amelia does not let go. She takes the queen from Ina’s hand. Tilts her head down. Presses the piece against her forehead.

“Time,” says Amelia, slowly, her voice drawn out. “Time is a bit different for me, you know? A moment for me could be years for you.”

Ina leans back. Part of her aches, hurts to see Amelia like this. But she listens on, patiently. And when Amelia does not elaborate, Ina goes ahead and asks, “Is it lonely, being a time traveler?”

A pause.

“Terribly,” Amelia finally admits. There’s a small break in her voice that makes Ina want to reach out. To soothe her. To vow to be the one anchor that will never leave her side. But she stays silent.

Amelia speaks up again. “I’m sorry, Ina.” Her voice is solemn, dripping with a kind of pain that Ninomae Ina’nis does not understand the reason for.

“For what?” asks Ina. She does not like where the conversation is going. She hopes that maybe it’s a weird, elaborate joke by the detective. It isn’t. She knows in her soul it isn’t.

“I’ve been so stupid. I did… something incredibly stupid.”

“What did you do?” asks Ina, out of genuine concern.

“I think love is being willing to hold a thousand little funerals for someone,” says Amelia.

“What do you mean?”

“It’s when –” Amelia starts, but doesn’t finish. “When you –” she goes. Her words seem to fail her. “It’s… being able… to…” she trails off. Studies the chess piece in her hand intently. Sadly. She sighs, deeply. “It’s saying hello, and goodbye, and hello again to the person you love, endlessly.”

The explanation doesn’t make much sense to Ina. She says nothing. The pit of her stomach feels like ice. Feels like dread. Feels like she herself is about to say goodbye whether or not she’s ready.

A pause. Amelia clears her throat. She slowly closes her fist around the queen. She looks at Ina, locking eyes. She smiles sadly. “This is my answer to your madness. Thank you for your time, Miss Ninomae.”

And again, again. The flash and the rumble that follows.

Ina sits in the silence of her room, dumbfounded.

Part of her knows what it means. She knows that she may never see the detective again. She looks to the clouds, watches as they part and reveal the brilliant blue sky hiding behind them. Part of her feels disappointed, somehow, like she had been anticipating the clatter of rain against her windowpanes. The howling of wind. The liveliness of the storm.

A small, dull ache throbs in the priestess’s chest. She tells herself she doesn’t know this feeling. The ache grows in strength, a small fire spreading into her lungs. She tells herself again that she doesn’t understand why she feels this way. The endless sky outside her room reminds her of the detective’s bright blue eyes, so the priestess closes her eyes.

In her ears, the sound echoes. _Thunderclap_.

And Ina realizes that she can’t deny the longing she feels.

_______

[The Modern World, Present Time]

In a way, Ina had mourned the loss of her love. Her days in the village were never the same after her last interaction with the detective. The sky was too blue. The sunset too tinged with pink. She saw glimpses of a blonde woman turning corners and watching from afar. The rumble of the thunderclouds brought nothing but disappointment. It was too much, all too much.

In her heart, in her mind, in her soul, she’d held a thousand little funerals for the woman she continued to long for.

Amelia Watson had told her they meet again. Had told her that they come to know each other again. And hope, foolish, foolish hope, brought Ninomae Ina’nis’s love back to life after every little funeral she’d hold.

One day Ina had simply walked out into the shore, the waves lapping at her ankles. She went further still, the water going past her knees. Then her waist. She looked out to the wide open sea, to the endless horizon, to the blue, _blue_ sky that continued to taunt her every waking moment. She’d resolved to go out and hope against all hope that maybe Amelia Watson had lied about the future and Ina would finally move on, or that they’d finally meet again.

They meet again.

But the Amelia Watson that Ninomae Ina’nis meets again wasn’t the same woman that investigated her village. It was their first meeting, again, technically. Amelia had been polite, friendly, helpful even. But it was different, and that in itself felt like another tiny funeral for Ina.

The priestess is emotionally capable. Strong. Steadfast. She could move past this. She told herself every day that she could move past this. And she did. Of course she did. And for a while it was alright. Like nothing had ever happened.

But love is a powerful emotion. Its roots take hold and never let go. To fall in love a second time for the same person is agony. Every day, every interaction, every conversation. She sees more and more of the woman that she’d done her very best to let go of. But Amelia Watson is still the same goofy, caring, charming, and somewhat handsome woman. The very same that treated Ina with kindness, with care, and seemed to see the priestess in a way that no one else did.

And so, Ninomae Ina’nis begins to succumb to her own madness.

She buries herself among her sheets in the relative darkness of her apartment. Out the window, she can see the gathering of storm clouds.

Amelia Watson had jumped away once more. This time to fix things, she had said. But how? Can she undo the quiet longing that Ina had carried with her all this time? Can she refute the thousand little funerals she’d held for the woman she loves?

In the distance, the rolling roar of the skies. Thunderclap.

Ina buries herself deeper into her sheets. The sound shakes her to her very core.

She feels her grip on her power loosening with every passing second. One round of heartbreak was a lot, but a second? It was proving too much, even for an eldritch priestess such as Ninomae Ina’nis. Her thoughts run wild. Her shadows grow inkier, thicker. Her aura begins to swallow light.

Again, again, the sound. The flash, the rumble. This time close. Too close. Right-next-to-her-bed close.

Ina turns. By her bedside, Amelia Watson stands.

“That was quick,” Ina manages, her voice hoarse, tired.

Amelia frowns.

“Sorry,” goes Ina. “Bad joke?”

“I didn’t know,” is all Amelia says. She turns around. Walks out toward the living room. Ina slowly gets out of her bed, shuffles toward where the detective is. She catches the detective placing the queen back on the chessboard.

“I’m back,” says Amelia, quietly.

“For how long this time?” goes Ina, before she can catch herself.

“I didn’t –” answers Amelia, whipping around to face Ina. “I didn’t know.”

Thoughts form at the back of Ina’s mind. Her ability to control them is rapidly fading.

_You should punish her for leaving you for so long_

_Make her stay with you_

_Don’t let her leave you, ever again_

_She should be yours, you can care for her, you can give her all she needs, you can love her all she wants_

_Claim her_

“Amelia,” goes Ina, her voice strained. She leans against a wall. Rubs at her temples. “I don’t think I can control my powers anymore.”

“I know,” says Amelia. “I can feel it too.”

_You are far stronger, faster, more powerful_

_If you simply wrapped her in your tentacles, she can never escape_

_No more running Miss Watson, no more jumping away, little queen, no more games_

_No more little funerals_

_No more_

“You should probably leave,” manages Ina, her breathing labored. She staggers to a seat in the dining area. Falls into the seat. Buries her head in her hands. Dark, inky shadows begin to spread out from beneath her. The world begins to sound more muffled. Her vision begins to blur.

Amelia sits across her at the dining table. “No,” she says.

“You’ll probably regret that decision.”

“I know.”

“Why won’t you leave?”

“This time, I can fix things,” Amelia declares.

There’s a surge of emotion in Ina’s chest. A mixture of anger, sadness, and immense, profound love.

“How much longer can you hold on?” asks Amelia. She straightens out her coat. Fiddles with her watch. Seems to prepare herself for what’s to come.

“No more,” answers Ina.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> listen, y'all, listen
> 
> the angst wasn't planned.
> 
> It legit wasn't even in the outline.
> 
> It just... happened. LMAO


	5. Betting games

[The Modern World, Present Time]

“Ina?” asks Amelia, even though she knows it’s a dumb question. She knows Ina is gone. Consumed by madness. Consumed by a suffering of their own design.

Ina’nis closes her eyes. The room grows darker. As if light itself cannot stand the strain of the priestess’s aura. “Tell me,” she says, her voice quiet, low, “am I to hold a thousand more little funerals for you?”

Amelia Watson doesn’t know what to say. Words seem to freeze in the pit of her stomach. Turn to dust in the back of her throat.

“Isn’t it enough that I waited for you? Don’t you tire of these little games?” Ina’nis’s questions seem to burn, to sting, to compel the detective to want to get on her knees and beg for mercy.

Shakily, Amelia manages to stand, knocking her seat down behind her. Ina’nis exhales, a long and deep sigh. Her eyes snap open.

And how they glow in the darkness of the room.

Amelia quickly whips around, tries to run to the door. She doesn’t look back as she hears laughter. Doesn’t look back as she hears the approach of footsteps. One foot after the other. She manages to reach the apartment’s entryway. Tries to hurl herself out the door. But she freezes before she even makes it to the threshold.

There, a fleshy, inky wall with several unblinking eyes blocking her path. To her side, a mirror perched upon a shelf near the apartment exit. She catches her reflection. She’s never seen herself so terrified in her life. The detective realizes she has no other choice. She grabs her gun, tucked away in her coat. She turns around, once more, to the sound of Ina’nis’s voice.

“A-me-li-a,” goes Ina’nis, sing-song, taunting. “No running away this time, my little time-traveling detective.”

Amelia Watson pulls out her revolver, aims it at Ninomae Ina’nis.

“Oh my,” goes Ina’nis, “you think your little toy scares _me_?”

“This is my answer to your madness,” repeats Amelia Watson.

The gunshot pierces through the night. Ina’nis falls to her knees.

Watson watches as Ina’nis brings a hand to her chest and pulls back to look at a glove stained with her blood. Her eyes widen, a frown on her delicate lips.

“ _You_ ,” she says, her voice as cold as the ocean. “ _You,_ shot _me?_ ” She looks up and locks eyes with Amelia, deep purple eyes glowing with an unnatural intensity, pupils narrowed into slits.

Fear invades Amelia’s mind like a dagger of ice. It cuts through all thoughts. All resolve. All bravado. Her hand trembles, the gun rattling and her aim becoming less and less stable. Her other hand clutches her pocket watch more tightly than she’s ever had in her entire life. She looks to her side, to the mirror by the doorway.

She sees, in her reflection, the rapid onset of madness taking hold of her. She can barely recognize herself. And her eyes, her once blue, blue eyes, now stained with dark purple ink. Swirls and tendrils of madness in blue eyes that slowly cloud them, slowly take over.

“ _Oh shit_ ,” goes the detective. 

“It’s bad to curse, detective,” says Ina’nis, rising to her feet once more. She pulls the bullet out of her chest, inspects the small, shiny metal in between her fingers and flicks it away. “Clever of you to get silver bullets, Miss Watson, but even those won’t save you now.”

“ _Oh shiiiiiiit_ ,” goes the detective.

The priestess lunges toward the detective, too fast for any human to react to. Tentacles emerge from the shadows, from the corners of Amelia’s periphery. They grab at her ankles, her arms, her legs.

Ina’nis slams down onto Amelia, and she falls to her back, the gun knocked loose from her grasp and clattering too far from her reach. Tentacles grab at her extremities, wrapping tight and rendering her immobile. The priestess straddles Amelia, grabbing the detective’s wrist still clutching the pocket watch so tight her knuckles are white.

“No jumping away this time, _Miss Watson_ ,” says Ina’nis, her voice drawn out, sultry, dripping with danger.

Ninomae Ina’nis pushes down on the detective, the tightness of the tentacles wrapped around her wrist cutting off the circulation to her fingers. With one swift movement, Amelia pulls free of the priestess’ grasp and with her now free hand, manages to press her pocket watch against the other woman’s chest. The device begins to tick unnaturally, humming with an untold power. The watch hands spin rapidly, in indiscernible directions. It glows a dull white. Ina’nis looks at it, and her gaze flickers back to the detective.

“What games are you playing at, Amelia?” she asks, sweetly, almost too sweetly. In the moonlight her eyes glow a deep, menacing purple. Her fangs glint dangerously.

Watson smiles back, grinning widely and wildly. Her brilliant blue eyes reflect a similar madness – tendrils of ink swirling in her irises, so close to consuming her entire mind. “You know, Miss Ninomae, I’ve always wondered – what would happen if I combined my time-traveling ability with your eldritch abilities?”  
  
Amelia Watson presses the watch harder into Ninomae Ina’nis’s chest.

“Let’s bet on this, why don’t we?” says Amelia.

“You know how much I _adore_ these little games of yours,” answers Ina’nis.

“Come closer, Miss Ninomae,” Amelia taunts. “I wanna tell you a secret first.”

Ina’nis narrows her eyes, but obliges.

Amelia takes the chance and presses her lips against Ina’nis’s. It’s rushed, and sloppy, and more like the clashing of teeth than it is the softness of lips, but everything about it renews Amelia’s resolve.

“I’m betting my life on you, Ina.”

_Click_ . 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're near the end!
> 
> Send your complaints to @IronShiba on the bird app lmao


	6. The endless hallways

[Unknown Place, Unknown Time]

Amelia Watson finds herself standing in an unknown location. A hallway, about ten feet wide, seemingly endless in both directions. There are some corners, leading further down into more hallways, which in turn lead to more corners and more of the endless, endless hallways. The walls are stone, cold to the touch and weathered, with dimly burning torches mounted on them. An endless red carpet is underfoot. On each side, doors. Sturdy, solid wood doors, appearing uniformly and at regular intervals. Each door has a plaque – written in an ancient language Amelia cannot discern.

Beside the detective, a familiar floating book. It speaks to her with an unnatural voice, layers and layers of sounds and tones mashed together, as if the chorus of a thousand different people all whispering the same few verses.

“What is the plan here, detective?” it asks.

Amelia Watson inspects one of the doors. She shrugs. “No plan.”

“Come now,” it insists, following her around as she walks from door to door, inspecting each. “We’re trapped in the same infinite space, let’s just cut to the chase.”

Amelia turns around to face the book. It emits a familiar kind of aura. A familiar kind of madness. “Where are we? What’s behind these doors? And where are you keeping her?”

The book laughs. It’s laughter sounds disorienting, hollow and somehow all encompassing. The chorus of voices hurt Amelia’s ears.

“So many questions, detective.”

“Answer,” commands Amelia.

“We are in an endless domain, lost to both the constraints of time and space. Your ability to time travel as you please, combined with the Priestess’s ability to bend the laws of reality makes for an interesting combination. Here, you visit places in time as if they were physical locations. All of time simultaneously has happened, is happening, and will happen.”

“Fuck,” goes the detective, “you lost me there.”

The book continues on, uncaring as to whether or not Amelia Watson understands its explanation. “Behind the doors are memories, instances at points in time. Some of the past. Some of the present. And some of the future. All of them, of both yours and the Priestess’s.”

Watson nods. This is sort of what she wanted, actually. Nice to know her plan at least kind of worked, even though the specifics of it all are a little too hard to grasp.

“And for your final inquiry, it seems you misunderstand,” says the book, “ _she_ was never ours to contain.”

“What do you mean?”

“Allow us to answer your question with another. Who do you think has the power? Who do you think is the ruler of this domain?”

“Ninomae Ina’nis.”

“Correct,” says the book. The sound of applause echoes throughout. Discordant, chaotic. A mocking kind of sound. “We exist to bestow power upon the worthy. We exist within a vessel that is capable.”

“Ina has never done any wrong,” says Amelia.

Laughter, again. Amelia’s head begins to throb. “You misunderstand so much detective. Do you think that the end is the destruction of the world? It just so happens that pain and misery and madness and the breaking of minds and the shattering of spirits is a means to an end.”

“What is the end then?”

“Power, detective. _Power_. An increase in influence. Strength in controlling others.”

“But Ina doesn’t seem to do anything like that, either.”

“The Priestess plays a game about laying blocks for two hours and people are overjoyed,” goes the book. “Do you not think there is power in that? Control?”

“But I do that too!” goes Ame, incredulous. “There is never any malice in what Ina does.”

“It so happens that the Priestess has her own approach to building the cult. It matters little. We are pleased with how capable she is. How worthy. How powerful.”

Amelia Watson lets these facts sink in. She wonders how much more about Ina had she simply not known. How much more could she have possibly misunderstood.

Misunderstood.

The word makes something within the detective ache. She thinks, again, of the time loop they’re in, of the suffering she had accidentally inflicted upon the priestess. Of the immense guilt that now lay upon the detective’s shoulders. These are the consequences of her own actions. The result of her own inability to see through the truth. This is now her burden to bear. Her case to solve.

The book speaks up again. “So, now that we seem to have satiated your curiosity somewhat, do tell, what is the plan?”

“Will you help me if I tell you?” asks Amelia.

“Probably. If our interests align.”

“Don’t eldritch things hate detectives?”  
  
Laughter. Again, again. Booming, echoing. The sound seemingly bleeding from the walls and assailing her senses.

“Yes,” says the book, “we do detest detectives such as yourself. A natural enemy, so to speak. For your existence is to tear apart at what which we build.”

“I have never opposed Ina,” asserts Amelia. “I have done my very best to support her. In all things.”

“Why do you think we are where we are now? Why do you think the priestess left the village she had painstakingly built?”

“I… I didn’t know,” says Amelia.

“We respect the wishes of the Priestess. It seems, for reasons beyond us, she feels romantically inclined towards you.”

Amelia looks away. Her cheeks feel incredibly warm.

“We tried to use our power to assist with bridging certain… gaps,” continues the book, “but alas, the Priestess cannot be forced to do things if she does not choose so.”

“Uh,” goes Watson, now feeling incredibly awkward about talking about her crush and her feelings to the ancient book that gave her crush otherworldly eldritch powers. “So, like, Ina likes _likes_ me?”

“We feel our contempt for you growing by the second.”

Amelia Watson stares at the book, waiting for an answer.

“… Yes.”

“Okay,” goes Amelia, “cool. _Cool cool cool_.” She feels her heart race. A special kind of warmth blooming in the gaps of her rib cage. Now, more than ever, she feels incredibly motivated to go through with the wild haphazard plan she had pulled together.

“Hasn’t that fact been made blatantly obvious to you?” asks the book.

“Well, I mean,” goes Amelia, “it was a hunch but like, I still want some kind of confirmation.”

“To be absolutely fair,” goes the book, sounding somewhat displeased, “if the pair of you were to produce any offspring, the resulting child would have constant access to this kind of power. It is, to say the least, _promising_.”

Amelia Watson thinks three thoughts at once: 1. It’s fucking weird that the eldritch book is suddenly prying into her goddamn sex life. 2. The biological implications are something to think about or maybe awkwardly ask about at a later date, _for sure_. 3. Possibly giving birth to an eldritch, time-traveling super baby as a concept alone is incredibly stressful and weirdly pressuring.

The detective ponders these things, and opts to say, “Always use protection. _Got it._ ”

“We tire of this stupidity, detective,” declares the book. “What is the plan?”

Amelia Watson straightens out her cap, her jacket. She grins at the ancient book. “Time for me is different,” she says. “I want to be able to level the playing field a bit.”

“What do you mean?”

“Our interactions in the village was about a few months for me, total. For Ina, there was a gap of a few years. We meet again and there’s another couple months before things began to escalate.”

Amelia pauses. The book remains silent.

“The plan,” says Amelia, “is to cram years of feelings into my dumb detective heart, find Ina, and then let her realize that we’re uh…” She begins to feel incredibly embarrassed about telling an ancient eldritch relic about these things.

“We’ve been witness to the Priestess’s schoolgirl pining for a while now. If anything, this is a relief that we can finally get past this stage. It only vexes us so that it needs to be a detective, of all things.”

“Yeah,” goes Amelia. “That we’re on the same page. In terms of feelings.”

“Congratulations,” deadpans the book.

“Hey,” says Amelia, “random question.”

“No,” answers the book.

Amelia continues anyway. “She uh, she have any other suitors back in the village? Before or after me?”

The book seems to mull whether or not it would answer. After a brief silence, it opts to speak. “There were several attempts. Several washed up sailors, scholars, artists upon the village’s shores. Alas, none of them seemed to pique at the Priestess’s fancy.”

Amelia nods along. “ _Nice_ ,” she whispers to herself.

“We can practically see your ego inflate. Why did it have to be _you_?”

“Heh.” Amelia chuckles to herself. “You’ll have to ask Ina, I guess.”

“A final question before you go on your foolish merry way,” says the book.

“You aren’t coming with?”

The book pretends not to hear Amelia’s question. “What would you have done if this wild gambit of yours did not pay off? If you clicked at your watch and nothing happened?”

Amelia Watson thinks about the question briefly. Blushes. Laughs. “Um, death by _snu-snu_ I guess.”

“ _Ugh_ ,” goes the book, “and this is why we refuse to accompany you on this errand of yours.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kind of jarring in terms of tone, I think, but I think this kinda chappie is necessary for plot purposes (else it's all just kind of *vague handwaving*)
> 
> back to our regularly scheduled angst in the next one! two chaps left in this story!


	7. A thousand little funerals

[Unknown Place, Unknown Time]

Door after door, the seas of memories are a muddled, confusing mess. This is Amelia Watson’s answer to Ninomae Ina’nis’s madness. A madness of the detective’s own creation.

_______

> Ame watches on as the cult in the Lost Village by the Sea holds a ritual. At first, the detective worried that it would be cause for concern. A reason to maybe call for back up and start going ham on some villagers. But it isn’t.
> 
> It’s really more a performance than it is a ritual.
> 
> There, upon a makeshift stage on the pier, Ninomae Ina’nis performs a yearly dance.
> 
> Her robe flows like velvet, like water cascading down a mountaintop. Torchlight frames her, casting her in an almost ethereal glow. Golds and dark purples a flurry of colors as she moves with grace. She rings the ceremonial bell in her hand with every step, every sway, every movement. The chime echoes in the detective’s head. Hypnotizing her. She can’t look away. She feels like she’s holding her breath, trying to stretch the moment out longer.
> 
> The dance is a song and it moves the detective in a way that she doesn’t fully understand, not yet. A storm rages in her heart and it’s beyond her control to ease the thundering of her heart.
> 
> When everything is finished, applause washes over the crowd. Watson remains rooted to the spot. Even when the event formally concludes. Even when the villagers eventually leave.
> 
> Ninomae Ina’nis waves a hand in front of the detective’s face. “Hello Miss Watson?” she goes. “Are you quite alright?” she giggles, smug. She _knows_. Watson blushes a furious shade of red. Tries feebly to hide her face behind her cap.
> 
> “I’m… I’m fine.” Amelia manages.
> 
> “How did you find my performance?” asks Ina.
> 
> Watson looks at the woman. Into the deep purple eyes. She feels like they’re an ocean pulling her in deeper and deeper and there’s no escape. Her chest aches. She feels like she needs to wrap her arms around the woman, around her lithe, delicate frame, like she needs to worship her in a way that only she can.
> 
> “You were… captivating, Miss Ninomae,” says Watson. A thousand more words burn at the pit of her heart.

_______

> Amelia Ninomae attempts to change the bedroom light bulb despite lacking the height to do so. She stacks chairs on chairs on random boxes and shelves. The whole construction teeters dangerously from side to side. Amelia decides that _it’s fine_ and that _this will totally work_. She just needs to be quick about it.
> 
> She climbs the structure, reaching feebly for the ceiling fixture. _Juuuuuuust_ beyond her grasp. She slips (because of course she does) and she tucks as she falls, expecting the impact against floorboards, the possible twisting of ankles, the likely breaking of bones.
> 
> Instead, she is caught in something soft, pillowy. Tentacles. By the doorway, her wife giggles.
> 
> “What _on earth_ are you up to, Ame?” goes Ina.
> 
> “Changing the light bulb,” answers Ame, innocently.
> 
> In an instant, Ina summons tentacles to get to work – they deftly change the light bulb, put away the haphazard scaffolding Amelia had built.
> 
> “ _I almost had it_ ,” whines Ame.
> 
> Ina giggles. “Let me spoil you, my queen,” she says.

_______

> Ame reaches out to shake Ina’s hand. “Nice to meet you,” says Ame, “I’m Amelia Watson.”
> 
> The other girl hesitates, but Ame feels like maybe she’s just shy.
> 
> “Hello, I’m Ninomae Ina’nis. You’re the number one detective, yes?” There’s a glint in the girl’s eye. Sorrowful. Amelia feels like her lungs are somehow a thousand times too small. She tries her hardest to stay focused on the present.
> 
> “Have we… Have we met before?” asks Watson.
> 
> “Yes and no,” answers Ina, giggling, but the joy in her smile doesn’t reach her eyes.

_______

> Ina sketches away at her drawing pad, shaded by the leaves of the great, old tree in the shrine’s courtyard. Ame sneaks up behind her.
> 
> “Woah,” goes Ame. “Don’t I look, like, too handsome in that?”
> 
> Ina is mildly started, but she laughs it off. She turns to wink at the detective.
> 
> “I draw what I see, Miss Watson.”

_______

> Hands find hands and skin meets skin in the darkness of their bedroom. Breathy gasps. Soft moans. Amelia feels the sharp, pointed teeth of her wife dragging along the sensitive skin of her neck. It feels good, too good.
> 
> “Ame,” says Ina, her voice low, laced with need and lust and love.
> 
> Ame looks into her wife’s eyes. They glow familiarly.
> 
> “Can I?” asks Ina.
> 
> Ame chuckles. “Yes, of course,” she says, running her hands through dark purple hair, along expanses of soft, pale skin.
> 
> And Ina pulls Ame’s consciousness into her madness. All Amelia can see is the endless universe in her wife’s eyes. All Amelia Ninomae can feel is the entirety of everything that has ever mattered to her right in her arms.

_______

> Ame is cuddled up against Ina beneath warm, fluffy sheets. Outside, a snow storm rages on. Ame presses her ear against Ina’s chest. The drumbeat of her lover’s heart sounds like the constant march of time. _Thump, thump, thump_. Proof that Ina is there and in that fleeting, fleeting moment, time is theirs to witness. Ame has never felt so safe in her whole life.

_______

> “Welcome home,” says Ina, and the great weight on Ame’s shoulders seem to lift.

_______

_______

_______

It’s an eternity of memories. An endless expanse of feelings. All felt at once. All experienced at once. Amelia skips doors, corridors, but she goes through as many as her mind would let her. As many as her spirit can take. As many as her heart needs. And it’s still a lot. Like a flash fire, consuming her in her entirety.

She stands the end of a hallway. Walls and floor and doors suddenly cutting out and giving way to black, inky nothingness. Amelia Watson knows what this is. What lies beyond once she takes a few steps more. The darkness is welcoming. Warm, somehow. It beckons to her, softly, patiently. And this time she is ready for what is to come. In fact, she welcomes it eagerly.

She walks forward. The darkness consumes her, pulls her deeper and deeper into it’s depths.

A voice emerges without discernible source in the detective’s mind. The voice is familiar. A voice she longs to hear. Needs to hear.

_You confront me._

_Why?_

And in the depths of the ocean of dark, pulled in further and further still, one thought bursts forth from the back of Amelia Watson’s mind. The thought, _the feeling_ , burns her chest, her lungs, a fire circulating in her blood and making her very fingertips tingle. There is one truth to confront.

As she sinks past the waves, past the point of no return, there is only one truth, glowing brightly within her. She hates to admit it. In fact, she’d rather if she never did have to say it. But there are words that refuse to be unspoken. Feelings that refuse to be undiscovered.

And so she speaks her truth.

“Because love is a kind of madness.”

Ame blinks. Before her, Ninomae Ina’nis, in all her splendor, in all her beauty. They stand, facing each other, in the vast nothingness at the end of the universe. Amelia Watson’s heart feels like it’s about to explode. Her breath feels frozen in her lungs. How different it all feels, after all these memories.

“ _Hey_ ,” says Amelia, as casually as possible. She feels like slapping herself.

“I’m sorry,” says Ina. “I dragged you into this.”

“I… I need to hold you right now. Please,” says Ame. The admission is surprising, even to Amelia. But she can’t contain herself anymore. Her heart is a mess of memories and feelings and needs all compressed into one tiny space, and if she doesn’t feel the warmth of the woman in front of her soon enough she’s certain she’ll just lose herself entirely.

“That’s just,” goes Ina, hesitating, “that’s just the madness getting to you.”

“You’ve seen some of the memories, some of what will happen to us,” says Ame.

“I… ”

“Dude, we get _married_. Can we please hug? I miss you so bad.”

Ina blushes a furious shade of red. “I figured maybe I’m only seeing timelines that I want to see.”

“I think love is being willing to hold a thousand little funerals for someone,” repeats Ame, changing the subject.

Something seems to shatter in Ina’s eyes, like a thousand glittering little glass shards. It aches for Ame to see this. She wants to go back. To stop herself from ever speaking these words. But she takes a deep breath. Steels her will.

“People, they never stay the same, you know,” explains the detective. “The me you see today, the me you embrace and you kiss and you–”

Her words falter. She sees nothing but Ina, needs nothing but the woman and she longs for Ina’s soft voice and soothing touches.

“Time for me can be so different,” Ame manages to continue. “I never know if I’ll jump too far back or too far forward. What if I meet a you of the past or future that’s nothing like the you I’ve come to… I’ve…”

Ame reaches forward. There’s glassiness in Ina’s eyes. Ame wants to reassure her, to let her know that she’s there, truly and definitely there, and she doesn’t want to stray any further, not again, not anymore. Hesitantly, hesitantly, Ina reaches out. Their fingers touch. Interlace. Bit by bit it feels more and more like she’s alive again.

“To love is to be ready to watch the person you’ve fallen for change in small ways every day,” Amelia Watson manages to say. “It’s to say hello and goodbye simultaneously. When a person changes, you hold a little funeral for that person they were. And to truly love is to find something new to love within them.”

Ina says nothing, waiting for Amelia to continue to elaborate.

“And time is so different for me, I worry that there are no constants, no anchors, nothing that stays the same enough for me to hold my thousand little funerals and fall in love a thousand more times.”

“ _Oh,_ ” goes Ina.

“I think I’m ready now,” says Ame. “I’m ready to be there with you, to stand by your side in the passage of time. To hold a thousand little funerals for you and then find a thousand more reasons why you’ll always be my one constant, in all the timelines I ever visit.”

She pauses. Looks longingly at Ina. “Do you think you’re ready to hold a thousand more little funerals for me? This time, this time I swear I’ll always be at your side, every morning, every evening, every–”

“That sounds an awful lot like a proposal,” Ina manages, a small, small smile on her delicate lips.

“All things considered,” says Ame, grinning, “it kind of is.”

“Yes,” says Ina, her voice breaking, her eyes sparkling. She looks so beautiful like this, Ame thinks.

“Yes,” echoes Ame, and she pulls the woman into her arms.

They wrap their arms around each other and it surprises them both how perfectly they fit into one another. How arms wrap around one another, so strongly and so needily, as if so desperately afraid of any loss of contact. There, again, Ame can hear the forward march of time in Ina’s chest. She chuckles, lightly, the drumbeat so fast, so rapid. As if time were zipping past. _Thump, thump, thump, thump, thump._

She realizes, almost belatedly, how fast her own heart is going. They beat, almost in unison, and in Amelia Watson’s mind it feels like two timelines finally merging into one.

“Look at us,” goes Ame, “embracing at the end of time and space. Isn’t this _romantic_?”

“Mhm,” answers Ina, burying her face into the crook of Ame’s neck.

Amelia reaches up to press her watch against Ina’s back. Ina doesn’t let go of the detective. “Let’s go back now, okay?” says Ame.

“Stay with me,” whispers Ina, wrapping her arms ever tighter around Ame.

“I will always come home to you,” whispers Ame.

_Click_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> just gonna wrap up things in the next chapter.
> 
> well, this was 100% a wild ride for me. Hope you all enjoyed!


	8. The forward march of time

[The Modern World, Present Time]

Ninomae Ina’nis and Amelia Watson are brought back to their world, still on the floor of Ina’s apartment. The room is brightly lit. No inky wall bars the door. The two women look into each other’s eyes and find that they’re both free of the madness.

They immediately kiss. Searing, bruising, full of so many feelings that words cannot ever hope to encapsulate. They later part, gasping for air, but still unwilling to let go of one another. They make eye contact once more.

And they break into wild laughter.

_______

They sit, shoulder to shoulder, on Ina’s bed.

Amelia leans on Ina’s shoulder. Her voice is quiet, barely audible. “So, did my gamble pay off or what?”

Ina turns to face the blonde, cups her face with both her hands. “Why couldn’t you just ask me out like a normal person?”

“I didn’t know if it would be enough!” Ame shouts back, laughing.

“You shot me!” goes Ina, squeezing on Ame’s cheeks, but laughing herself. “I really liked this shirt. Now there’s a _bullet hole_ in it.”

“You knew what you were signing up for when you started feeling things for me,” Ame declares, smugly.

Ina leans back, laughing loudly and wildly. Her laughter comes out as wheezes, her frame shaking, tears forming at the corners of her eyes. For once, the thought emerging at the back of her mind is of her own volition, a thought that is hers and truly hers.

_What an adorable idiot this detective is_

“Actually, no,” answers Ina. She pulls Ame in for a kiss. This time soft. This time sweet. This time laced with all the longing she’s felt all these years, surging in her body like it did the day she first laid eyes on the detective. She pulls away, a wild blush blooming on Amelia’s cheeks. “But that’s also part of what I love about you.”

“ _Ah_ ,” goes Ame, blushing an even deeper red.

“I love you, Miss Watson.”

A pause. The two stare at each other for a few beats. Amelia looks away.

“C’mon are you really gonna make me say it?”

“Yes.”

Amelia Watson looks back at Ninomae Ina’nis.  There’s a smile on  Ame’s face, the soft, unspoken joy of which is reflected in her bright, blue eyes.

“I love you too, you octopus nerd.”

“Good enough,” says Ina, laughing.

And time continues to march on, ever forward.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THE END.
> 
> waaaaaaaaaaaa I hope you all liked it. Not sure if I managed to stick the landing tbh but this was a fun challenge for me to write, from start to finish. 
> 
> Thank you all so so so so so much for reading and all your kind comments and kudos and errything. It really does help me with pushing on with my craft. 
> 
> sequel when? ehe.

**Author's Note:**

> Yeeeaaaaah we gonna be feeling this one out and seeing how it plays out nyehehe. 
> 
> My first stab at iname, and yes, maybe no angst from me hahahaha
> 
> I'm @IronShiba on twitter!


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